Horribly Hyphened
by I am the Fundamental Principle
Summary: A crackfic from an insane author for all ya'll insane readers out there. Rated T for Insaneness. Stuff about the horribly hyphened names in Harry Potter. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

He-Who-Must-Not-Party

**AN: Hiya! Enjoy my weird tale! Bye!**

"Tommy Boy!" The horrid call of that thrice damned Horace Slughorn rang through the Slytherin quarters. Our favorite Head Boy and future Dark Lord grinded his teeth.

"For the hundredth time, I don't want to go to the Slug Club!" Tom Marvolo Riddle sprang out of his hiding place in the broom closet, no longer able to contain his frustration.

The Head of the Slytherin House pouted. "C'mon, Tommy Boy! Have a party with us! A party, a party! It'll be fun!"

A horde of Slug Club members appeared out of nowhere. The all wore triangular masks over their faces that had a large, red 'S' stamped on them. The horde chanted with Slughorn the Slug Club Motto.

"Fun, fun. Slug Club fun. Party, party, Slug Club party." Their voices were monotone and strangely ominous.

The crowd swooped up Riddle in their immensity, sweeping him off his feet. The cries of the Head boy echoed through the crowded hallways.

"Hey! You there! Help me!"

The students all disapparated away, even though disapparation isn't supposed to be possible in Hogwarts. However, due to confusion as to why Dumbledore was able to, the wise wizard diminished that ward. It was the most intelligent thing to do. As to why the horde was simply taking Tom was another story. Well, it's not really, because that'd make for quite the boring story, would it not?

The horde brought Tommy to an empty room. Suddenly the light's flashed on and neon disco light were displayed. Huge wardrobes appeared, as well as make-up artists.

Slughorn gave a perverted smile. "Oh, Tommy Boy! I've always wondered what would have if you were a Tomalina! Or, or a…gimme another one, goons!"

One goon raised his…or her hand. He…She…it…it spoke in a monotone voice. "May I suggest Tomicina, Master?"

Another goon robotically slapped the other…it… "Don't be an idiot. Tommy Boy should truly be a Tomata."

Slughorn rolled his eyes. "I should have gotten more intelligent goons…it's your fault, author…"

He turned his attention back to Tommy Boy, who was currently being powdered and measured by a goon dressed in neon pink instead of the drab brown of the normal goons. The reason why he didn't fight back was for the saneness of the author…well, her remaining saneness, that is. One such 'drab' goon raised its hand.

The author called on it. "Yes, drab goon # 1?"

"Why are we drab."

"Why is that a statement, drab goon # 1?"

"What."

"If you can't use proper English, don't live at all!"

And so, drab goon # 1 disappeared from the earth of this fanfiction. Drab goon #2 replaced it. Or should it be drab goon # 1 replaced drab goon that disappeared #1? This author is thoroughly confused and shall continue this story.

The pink goon turned Tommy Boy, now Tomalina, around. He, or she, was dressed in a wonderfully pink dress with numerous frills and an abundance of ribbons and bows. His, or her, short hair had had two pigtails attached to it. The pigtails were tied with gaudy pink clips.

That night, Tomata was forced to attend the Slug Club Party. He, or she, was humiliated beyond repair. Essentially, the last push toward evil for Tomicina was the thirst for revenge against the Slug Club. Word got out that the Head Boy dressed as a girl, and Tommy Boy was made fun of for the rest of his seventh year. He created a severe fear of parties from the cross-dressing experience.

And that is why, Voldemort is called He-Who-Must-Not-Party.

**AN: Just a crackfic I decided to do after I finished writing chapters for my other two stories. I'll update this irregularly, and only when I feel like it. Please write suggestions in the reviews for the next He-Who-Must-Not…!**


	2. Chapter 2

I-Don't-Know-Who

**AN: Hi! Thanks to Rebade for favoriting and following! This one's about Harry and Malfoy, if Harry was in Slytherin.**

"Hey, don't think you're so great just because they say you killed You-Know-Who." One blond boy sneered at the scrawny imp who was savagely eating chicken, tearing into the meat with his hands.

Said scrawny imp swallowed his chicken, though with great difficulty, to give the blondie an empty stare. "Sorry, do I know you?"

The blondie sneered. "I'm Draco, Draco Malfoy. Surely you know me, the great son of Lucius Malfoy?"

"Nope, doesn't ring a bell." Harry tapped his chin thoughtfully with a chicken drumstick. "Oh, Lucius Malfoy?"

The great son gave a smug grin. "Yes, he's my father. Did you hear that? _Father_. I'm going to inherit his wealth when I come of age, you know."

"Oh. Never mind. I thought he was a member of Sesame Street, but that was the Cookie Monster…" The-Boy-Who-Lived focused back on the task at hand, which was attempting to fit a large piece of steak in his mouth.

Draco reared back. "What! Why would someone name a street after a kind of seed?"

Harry twisted his fork awkwardly, attempting to find a way to stuff the steak in. "I don't know. Besides, I don't know who."

"What?"

"You said I shouldn't think I'm great just because they say I killed You-Know-Who."

"Yes, so? It's true." Malfoy delicately cut his steak, daintily picking it off his fork.

"Well, I don't know who I killed. You said I knew who, but I don't know who, so could you be a dear and tell me who I supposedly killed? Also, if I killed him, I'm pretty sure I'd know who, but who knows? Maybe I forgot the person who I don't know, but why do you call him You-Know-Who? Some people might NOT know who. Plus, who thinks I killed this person I don't know?" Harry had gave up on trying to fit the steak in his mouth and had resorted to attempting to tear it apart with his bare hands.

The blond boy wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Try to have some manners, Potty. And what do you mean you don't know who? Of course you know who! The Dark Lord!"

Harry licked his fingers, glancing sideways at the other Slytherin. "Eh? I'd like to see you have manners when you haven't eaten proper food for, eh, about 10 years!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. Just because you don't have a feast everyday doesn't mean you're starving."

The bespectacled boy swiped another fish from the dish. And when I say fish, I mean a huge, Hagrid's-pet fish. Think a goldfish, for Hagrid. Got it? Yeah.

"Can you live on a piece of bread and expired jelly per week for a decade?"

"Of course not! It's impossible."

"It's not. But who's the Dark Lord?"

"Wha-? You know who, Potty!" Draco had completely abandoned his plate and aristocratic face in favor for scowling at the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Annoy-Blond-Brats.

"No, really, I don't. And I think you got the name wrong. It's Potter." Harry, on the other hand, was still multitasking by having a conversation with Draco and swallowing one slice of pie after another.

"You do know! Don't be stupid, Potty! Seriously!" The other first-year's face had contorted into a glaring, horned, demonic devil that happened to be blond.

"Repeat after me, Malfoy. It's Potter. Po-tter. Not hard. Have you tried the Lemony Pie? It's _amazing._

"Argh! I know how to pronounce it, Potty! You're supposed to be _mad_!"

Harry tilted his head, crumbs littering the area around his mouth. "Eh? I thought I told you it was Potter…don't worry child, I won't make fun of your hearing problems. But you still haven't answered me! Who? I don't know who!"

Draco took a deep breath. "Potter."

"Yay! You got it right!"

"POTTER." The Malfoy heir yelled.

"…I'm listening~"

"You-Know-Who is the Dark Lord. He's the most powerful wizard ever. He's…"

Harry sighed, leaning his head on his hands, elbows propped up against the table. "Just give me a name, will you? This is taking me away from my dinner time…"

"I _can't_! Don't you know! He's the _Dark Lord_, for Merlin's sake!"

Harry yawned. "Then can I just call him I-Don't-Know-Who?"

Draco sulked. "I guess so…"

"Can I call you Ferret?"

'Ferret' looked up, frowning. "Why?"

The Boy-Who-Lived-To-Give-Strange-Nicknames grinned. "I just got a really amusing mental picture of a bouncing ferret. It reminded me of you!"

"No, you cannot call me-"

"You can call me Potty and I won't try to tell you you're pronouncing it wrong."

Draco paused. "…Fine."

"Someday, when you get over your Nomatophobia, can you tell me who I don't know? The one that I 'killed'."

Draco growled. "I don't have Nomatophobia, Potty!"

**AN: Ehehe…Nomatophobia, google it if you don't know…Review!**


	3. Chapter 3

He-Who-Hates-Redheads

**AN: This one isn't particularly funny, but, ah well. For all those who are redheads, you may now know why Voldy hates you! Yay! Watch our back for an attack! Thanks for the suggestions last chapter! I'll probably use on in the next chapter…**

_**In the Chamber of Secrets**_

"Why are you doing this to Ginny?" Harry Potter yelled, hurrying to the unconscious girl's side.

Unfortunately, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Clumsy slipped on the wet and moldy stone floor of the Chamber and painfully landed on his rear. The ghostly figure of mini-Voldemort laughed.

"Why? You're asking me why? Ha! I'll tell you then!" And so, He-Who-Hate-Redheads launched into a story that no one particularly cares about, but the author must put it in or the mini-story will be too short. Commence boring retelling of how Tommy Boy became He-Who-Hates-Redheads.

_**In the PAST, Ooooooooh, how mysterious…I like this font **_

__That girl, I don't know how she captivated me. She was a simple, Ravenclaw girl, and wasn't even particularly pretty. But she was the first to not flee when I sat at the table.

We met in the library. I sat at a table, expecting her to leave after I sat down. Instead, she stayed, engrossed in her note-taking. Our relationship continued like that. She was fearless, unafraid of me and my Slytherin prince status. I thought we were in love. I thought it was mutual. Because I was naïve.

At the beginning of my fifth year, I confessed to her. I had known her for a year. I was rejected. So, I decided, that I would curse that red hair that taunted me, curling as she turned on her heel after refusing my love. I curse that red hair.

_** Back to the present! I still love this font…**_

Harry yawned. He was still seated on the cave floor, which had grown oddly comfortable. "So, basically, you sapped Ginny's life energy because some girl rejected you? Besides, I don't think she even noticed you were there if she was 'engrossed in her note-taking'. Talk about stupid…"

The memory flickered. "Curse you! She really hurt me! She was my first love…"

"And what? Who cares?" The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Get-A-Horrible-Hyphened-Name stuck out his tongue. "You're just a pretty boy who can't get a girl."

"Argh! You! My basilik will kill you!"

And that is how Tommy Boy became He-Who-Hates-Redheads.

**AN: Did I spell basilik wrong? Ah well…this one was oddly short…Review suggestions, criticism, or compliments! Thanks!**


	4. Chapter 4

The-Boy-Who-Loved-Chemistry

The boy, who happened to have a horribly hyphened name like the Boy-Who-Lived, though he was unaware of it at the age of five, also happened to enjoy the science of chemistry. He absolutely adored the horrendous stench of fumes that was emitted when chemistry was performed, as well as the tedious memorization of the periodic table. The boy spent countless hours in a cupboard, memorizing chemistry procedures and singing songs about Boron, Lithium, and other elements.

You can imagine the boy's disappointment when he realized he was called the Boy-Who-Lived by the entire Wizarding World, instead of his self-made nickname of the Boy-Who-Loved-Chemistry.

When the boy went to a strange school named Hogwarts, he was rather unsatisfied with the lack of a chemistry class. So, he wreaked havoc in the Potions class, which was the closest to a chemistry lab he could possibly get. Let's look into the first potions class, shall we?

_The boy stumbled into the classroom, a copy of the latest copy of 'Acta Chimica Slovenica' shoved near his face. It was a wonder how the boy managed to sit at a seat was a mystery. He didn't bat an eye as a certain batty, greasy, dungeon-dweller of a man made his trademark, cloak-swooping, instead reading his magazine with vigor._

_ "Ah yes, Harry Potter, our new…celebrity." The slightly humanoid creature sneered, his voice dripping with greasy sarcasm._

_ The boy blinked, nodding slowly as his eyes continued to move across the page. "Present."_

_ The man frowned. "What are you reading, Potter?" He spat the name._

_ The boy smiled. His favorite subject. "Chemistry, sir."_

_ Snape sneered. "And why would you read of chemistry when you haven't even cracked open your Potions textbook, you cheeky brat?"_

_ The classroom was silent, the Ravenclaws, Harry's housemates, were silently reading and note-taking, while the Hufflepuffs were simply cowering away from the frightening bat-like man._

_ The boy turned a page as he responded to the man's question. It was a rather silly question. Of course he had read it, to find any chemistry references. Of course, he was extremely disappointed when there turned out to be none, even when he read extra books in the bookstore of that Diagon Alley._

_ "I have, sir."_

_ "Have you, Potter." The man's face contorted once more, causing the boy to wonder if this odd, presumably human mammal had been exposed to any harmful chemical reactions that may have distorted his face muscles._

_ "Well, then, I'll give you the chance to prove you're not a complete dunderhead__. __What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"_

_ The boy continued to read, answering in a monotone voice. "The Draught of Living Death, an incredibly strong sleeping potion. Used by the Guserf Brothers in 1078 to-"_

_ Snape interrupted his answer with a jab. "Potter, stop giving me that cheek. 10 points off Ravenclaw! Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"_

_ A couple of his house mates were sending the boy death glares. He continued to read the magazine, unfazed. "Oh, yes. I suppose you should look in a potion's cupboard? Unless you plan to find one in the wild. In that case," His voice reverted back to its monotone state. "A stone, commonly found in the stomachs of some species of goat, used to heal most poisons. Can be poisonous if taken raw."_

_ The boy sighed, finally removing his focus from the magazine to peek over at Snape. "Honestly, when will I ever need this crap? Non-magic folk have developed far better cures for many of these diseases. Plus, I'm planning to go to MIT and then work become world-renowned after I escape from this hell hole. Seriously, the Board needs to add more useful subjects."_

Let's just say that the Boy-Who-Loved-Chemistry was a cheeky little brat with a passion for chemistry and nothing else. Oh yeah, he's also a genius in practically every subject due to his reading of almost every book in the bookstore in search of a chemistry reference.

THE END

OF THIS CHAPTER…NOT THE STORY…REVIEW. OR THE BOY-WHO-LOVED-CHEMISTRY SHALL HAUNT YOU WITH HIS CHEMISTRY FACTS! BYE!


	5. Chapter 5

He-Who-Loved-Shakespeare

Lord Voldemort rose from his wonderfully polished desk. It was engraved with miraculous, golden designs, gleaming against the dark mahogany. He strode out of his study, an unnaturally happy spring in his step.

"Wormtail!" The Dark Lord snapped his fingers.

"Y-yes, milord?" The cowardly rat-of-a-man peeked around the corner, groveling deeply.

"We're going out." Voldemort began to cast a glamour over himself. The magic caused a nose to appear on the man's horribly pale face, as his red eyes dulled to a deep brown. Similarly brown hair began to creep up on the Lord's completely bald head.

"Have you planned a-another raid, milord? Sh-shall I call t-the others?"

"No, you fool! Can't you guess? You nitwit!" Lord-with-No-Name glared down at his servant, though the affect was dulled by the lack of piercing red eyes.

Wormtail cowered, shrinking back from the still terrifying wrath of his lord. "U-um, I…?"

"There's a new Shakespeare play in the theater nearby!" The-One-Some-People-Don't Know giggled childishly, hopping from one foot to the other in excitement.

The rat-like man furrowed his bushy brows, recovering from his fear momentarily. "When did you come to like Shakespeare, milord?"

Voldemort sighed, shaking his head. "Since that fool of an author, J K Rowling decided to rent me out to some idiotic gir-"

The author popped up out of nowhere, grabbing Moldy and clamping a cloth over his mouth. She shot a smile at the reader as she struggled to get the character under control.

Once she finally managed a shaky control over him, she tied the villain with a rope. The girl sighed, stepping back.

"Sorry about that. Moldy Shorts here isn't the most cooperative of characters. No, he's literally the LEAST cooperative. Geez…" The author poofed out of the story after she untied her borrowed character.

The Dark Lord's scowling face contorted into a grimacing smile. "What do…you mean…Wormtail…I-I've always…loved…that…old foooolll…Shakes-peare…Ehe…"

His eyebrow twitched erratically. "Eh, yes…always…"

The author popped her upper body into the story scene, quickly stabilizing her fading control over the character. Once the Dark Lord was nice and OOC, the author popped out once more, continuing the story in the muggle world.

A full grin spread across the out of character Voldemort. "Let's go watch the Shakespearean play!"

His voice sounded like a pre-puberty young boy. Wormtail winced, discreetly covering his abnormally large ears. The servant cringed.

"Do we have to?"

Lord Voldemort had finished his glamour. Now, he looked like a rich, old man, with a monocle, cane, and all. The perfect attendee to such a play. The old man glared at the sniveling man, waving his cane threateningly.

"Yes, milord…"

**I've realized that all of my chapter stories have the same starting letters in the title. Horribly Hyphened, Shadowed Soul, and Child of Chaos…Eh.**

"But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun." The Shakespeare fanatic, also a Dark Lord, froze in his quoting as a horrible, yet wonderful though hit him.

Let's start with the wonderful. Voldemort had a plan. A plan to reenact Romeo and Juliet! …Never mind, that's the horrible. Author made a mistake. Eh.

Now, as for the wonderful, the Lord didn't have a Juliet! No woman was beautiful and fair enough to play the role of the play's heroine. Yes! Wonderful! Simply miraculous! Juliet, or the lack of her, has saved us all from eternal disgust and blindness!

Another simply brilliant plan came into existence in the Lord Voldemort's shrewd and calculating mind.

"Yes, I shall put on a," *drumroll*, "one-man play!"

To save the readers from further damage. The author quickly drew a close to the chapter, for the sake of any readers.

**AN: Do you want a continuation? If so, it'll be truly horrific. Bye! Review what you want! Thanks!**


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